


ill-fitting;

by yoongiment



Category: GOT7
Genre: F/M, Marriage, Post-Wedding, Weddings, i don't want to spoil anything :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 09:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15409524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoongiment/pseuds/yoongiment
Summary: when he is with you, you turn jackson's years into seconds. even your wedding night goes by like the exhale of a soft breath.





	ill-fitting;

**Author's Note:**

> another piece that i wrote many, many moons ago...i think i wrote this sometime in the middle of my junior year of high school and i'm just now polishing and posting it the summer after my graduation. lol ! enjoy :) ღ

He lies down and silence engulfs him. There are no commands channeling through his brain, no places to be nor any task to complete. His body runs on autopilot, his heart beats and his lungs inflate and collapse in this mindless cycle that no longer feels like life. He blinks slowly, staring up at the white plaster ceiling of your shared apartment, and simply continues to survive.

Your voice rings in his ears, and in the back of his mind, he cries that even as you demolished the castle you both stood upon, your voice still called as a sweet, melodic tone that could sing him to another world.

Your last song had sent him to his demise.

Jackson unwillingly replays the last moment in his head. A tragic picture that grips itself to his retinas like cling film. In this moment, Jackson does not cry.

You looked radiant, as if you had plucked the stars from the sky and entwined them into your hair using the hand that bore the rather large diamond that Jackson had placed on himself. He looked to you, thinking that your dress was weaved from light itself.

In fact, the ivory of your dress was so crisp, so bright that Jackson could feel himself being blinded. He felt a white heat envelop his mortal body and he couldn’t bring himself to exhale the perfumed air of the small room.

“I can’t marry you.”

The first thing Jackson had felt stolen from him was time. It was as if the Earth had stopped spinning, all systems and communication coming to a halt, and even the clouds and the stars beyond were holding their breath. All of the memories, the years spent, the love grown, and the linking of souls - all of you and all of Jackson melded into one, sucked into that single sentence and obliterated. It seemed that even the debris of the impact was frozen in time.

His knees began to quake. Cold sweat chased down his spine, all moisture leaving his mouth and he is sure that he developed the fastest fever the world had ever seen.

He can only bring himself to one word. “What?”

You, the goddess that so long ago agreed to spend the rest of your life with him, the angel that eagerly took control of all of the wedding plans, you who had owned his body and soul for all these years...you, who had _become_ Jackson’s body and soul. What were you doing?

His light heart began to sink with the rising of bile in his throat. His mind, racing, told him to laugh, tell a joke and take away that pained look on your face, embrace his clownish nature and act upon the instinct to protect you.

He remained silent.

You began to fumble over your words, singing a sad tune of regret and mistakes and failed youth. A profuse apology.

“...and we’re so young, and I just don’t know anymore, Jackson, and with...I just, I thought I could do it. I really, really thought I could, but I can’t, I just don’t want to...I love you, but I just don’t want to marry you. This isn’t what I want and it’s not fair, and - and I’m so, so, so sorry, Jackson, I’m just...so sorry.”

Big tears glide across your skin and wash away the makeup his mother and aunts so meticulously painted you with. In his dressing room lit with the bitter orange of the sunset, sobbing out your goodbye, he thought you looked beautiful.

He walks over to you across the room, footsteps echoing in his ears like a heavy heartbeat. Neither of you can bear to look away from each other and he grabs your face in his hands, delicately as a husband should.

You continue to bawl, stuttering over your own cacophony of sorrow and embarrassment. Jackson wipes tears from your face and brushes away your stray hair, bridal updo now a fallen mess at this point.

“Baby,” he whispers, trying to get you to stop and calm down. “baby, please...please, just...think.” You continue to weep and he is sure that he is dying. “What in god’s name are you doing?”

He always treated you as though you were made of glass, never even breathing too hard in your direction in fear of disturbing such an elegant piece of art. Never a temper, never any argument that didn’t end in a flurry of affection and a carefully crafted reconciliation. Never any resentment, never any of that.

“Jackson, I just...I don’t love you the way I should. I love you! I love you, I love you, but...just not enough. Not in that way. I’m sorry. I can’t marry you.”

He watched the tears leak from your eyes and let out an expressionless chuckle, thinking that you were crying enough to fill a swimming pool. His mind was swimming now.

“Baby...I know it’s hard, we both know it’s hard. I’ll do whatever you want me to, but think about...” he pauses to sob, the words burning his throat. “...think about what you’re saying right now.”

You don’t respond other than staring painfully into his eyes and whimpering.

“We’ve wanted this for so long...what’s happened? Make some sense out of this for me, please…”

Your eyes flicker to his lips and your wide eyes rest on them, filled with uncertainty and hesitation.

“I won’t be mad, I swear, just...please, baby, just…” He begins to break more, pinching the space between his eyebrows. He opens his eyes again to see you with your own furrowed brow, unintelligible crying stopped to a halt. Shaking your head, you take a step back from him, releasing yourself from his tender touch. He doesn’t move, and you step back once again.

“I’m sorry, Jackson. It’s just...not right.” You back into the door and fumble with the handle, preparing to close yourself from him for the last time.

“You mean, I’m not right,” he laments.

You look into his eyes one last time and sigh.

The last noise he heard in his dressing room for his wedding was the soft shutting of the door.

The pandemonium that broke throughout the entire church after this was hazy and blurred in Jackson’s eyes. His mother was clinging to him, whispering and streaming tears onto his tuxedo, the bridesmaids all over the place and the groomsmen ready to throw punches on whether they should begin to take down the decorations. The room was absolutely nuts and Jackson couldn’t focus his mind on any of it. He watched his sister across the room, surrounded by children, as she explained to their dejected faces that the wedding was no longer going to happen, and he was sure that he was dead.

He turned off his phone long before he had even arrived home. He watched time tick forward as night turned to day and the departure time for the flight to your honeymoon passed. He twisted the gold ring on his left fourth finger until the skin was crimson and felt raw. He continued to watch time move forward and failed to think objectively. There was no step for him to take, no alternate route because there was never supposed to be any alternate to living with you. He wondered where you had gone after fleeing the church, what you were doing now and who you were with. He wondered if you were alone and immediately pushed the painful thought aside.

With a shaky breath, he sat up on the couch and stared out at the routine orange sunset, an entire day after the incident, but a familiar sight nonetheless.

In his ears, he could hear the rush of blood, letting him know that he was still alive after all, but the sound was momentarily covered by the soft open and shut of the front door.

The world, now melted and molded into a shape that was not one he knew, fell so silent that you could hear the sound of a teardrop hit the carpet.

Jackson stepped forward.

**Author's Note:**

> who opens the door to the apartment? is it jackson or is it the reader? don't ask me, i only wrote the fic
> 
> i actually haven't kept up with got7 in a really long time but they have a special place in my heart :'( <3
> 
> any feedback or commentary is appreciated, and my tumblr is yoongiment.tumblr.com :) thanks for reading! ღ


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